


The Weasliad

by anno_Hreog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25094755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anno_Hreog/pseuds/anno_Hreog
Summary: After a promising new friendship forged on the Hogwarts Express, Harry gets sorted into Slytherin, and it's up to Ron to stay friends. Worse, Draco's in Gryffindor with him.But as our gang navigate the turbulent waters of interhouse friendships, a shadowy figure slips into their group uninvited, and the Wizarding World will never be the same again.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Relationships are not the focus, but the kids will pair up and break up over the years.

For the longest time, the gang decided that it was all Draco's fault, though Draco was rather proud of being the cause of all their troubles--the berk. He'd certainly changed his tune since their first day at Hogwarts.

Certainly, nobody had expected the Sorting Hat to settle on Malfoy's pale blond head and immediately belt out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

No one was more shocked than Malfoy, who grabbed the hat and threw it off his head, as if madness was contagious. The shocked silence was broken by one person applauding rather half-heartedly--it was Percy Weasley--before Draco snatched up the hat again, pulled it down over his ears and demanded to be resorted.

The Hat refused.

Draco held firm to the stool and refused to get up until he got a second opinion.

The Hat bellowed, "It’s Gryffindor unto your children's children, and another three generations if you continue to cross me, you stubborn little miscreant!"

And that was that. Severus Snape's head reeled at the thought of six generations of Malfoys in Gryffindor. Magical Britain would never be the same again. History shivered and drew a veil.

Professor McGonagall herself had to march that ungrateful plonker over to the lion's table, her firm grip digging into his shoulder, and not so gently push him to sit down and stop making such a fuss. Not an auspicious beginning with one's head of house, that was.

Everyone was still whispering about Malfoy, as Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson were both sorted into Slytherin to their enormous relief. It wasn't until 'Harry Potter' was called that the Hall sat up and paid attention again. After what looked like a brief discussion, the Hat announced, "Slytherin!"

"What?!"

The squawk of disbelief came from Draco, who was shushed by a disapproving Percy, and more jovially by the Weasley twins--"Yeah, shut it, Malfoy, that's just rude"--who seemed to regard his sorting as the most hilarious joke, showing that the universe heartily approved of their brand of humor.

Ron's own sorting--Gryffindor, of course--raised no eyebrows, and no one but his brothers took much note of it, even that being limited to an absent-minded, "well done, Ron, pass the gravy."

Ron stared across the Hall at Harry Potter over at the Slytherin table, who looked especially lost and wide-eyed and was desperately trying to make small talk with a rather superior looking third year. Harry had seemed like a right decent bloke on the train, down to earth and fun to talk to, not looking down on Mum's sandwiches, and not making a big deal about sharing his sweets. He'd even stood up for Ron after that tosser Malfoy had butt in and tried to poach him for a friend. That had been brilliant. But he turned out to be a snake in the grass, after all. While that slimy sneak Malfoy was sitting three seats up from him, whining loudly that Fred ("Weasley One", as opposed to George, "Weasley Two") had turned his pudding purple. The world did not make any sense.

It took all the enjoyment out of what was quite an excellent dinner. That bossy, big-haired girl talked at anyone who’d listen, telling them everything she’d read about in _Hogwarts, a History._ It would have been annoying if it wasn’t a bit funny, too, seeing how it twisted Malfoy’s knickers something fierce. Who did she think she was, going on and on like that as if she owned the place? Now, Ron was rooting for the bossy girl to take Malfoy down a peg.

But Malfoy was setting up his own stockade and already locking himself into it, as he kept pestering Granger. Who were her parents? What even were dentists? She was making that up. There was no such thing. Oh, he said with a sneer, it was _Muggle_. Did that mean he was sitting next to a Mudblo—

That got Malfoy stern looks from all the upper years, and Malfoy instantly shrank in his seat. Percy drew himself up and smiled magnanimously at the bossy girl, as if she were a poor orphan asking for another bowl of porridge.

“Muggles? How fascinating, Hermione. Our father—my brothers, George, Fred, and our Ron down there, say hi—works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. He’d be thrilled to meet your parents. We’re very open-minded here in Gryffindor.”

This last bit was aimed at Malfoy, whose shoulders were hunched all the way to his ears, which, at this point, had turned pink from being the focus of so much disapproval. Hermione Granger didn’t look like being made their token Muggleborn agreed with her much, but she shut up after that.

Then dinner was over, and they were led shuffling to the Gryffindor dormitories, given passwords (‘Caput Draconis’—Malfoy perked up at that), and shown the boys’ dorms, where Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas claimed the best beds on either side of the fireplace. Those two had talked non-stop since dinner, and were well on their way to being fast friends.

Malfoy had hissed like an outraged cat at not having first choice, but Seamus and Dean just smacked him with pillows and drove him to retreat to one of the beds next to a window, loudly claiming that he’d meant to have this one anyway: It was the best—anyone could see that! Neville Longbottom, the boy with the toad, looked quite alarmed by all this. What a saggy sock, wouldn’t say boo to a goose, that one. Malfoy to his left, Longbottom to his right. Ron smothered a groan. And they could have had Potter.

And so the day ended in a whimper, not with a bang. Night night, lights out. Welcome to Gryffindor.

He had looked forward to being mates with Harry, Ron realized, as he stared up at the shimmering gold threads on the red canopy above his four-poster bed. Feelings were not his strong suit, but this much was true: Ron had been giddy since the train, since he’d met Harry Potter. Harry Potter was actually nice! And he wanted to be Ron’s friend! They were going to have the most brilliant time at Hogwarts!

And now…

Disappointment was something Ron was used to. He dreamed about a lot of things; didn’t mean he got them. He wasn’t anything special anyway. Nobody made a fuss about him. Even Mum didn’t have much time for Ron, being run off her feet having to look after everything and everyone _and_ Dad, who needed as much looking after as Ginny. Ron was just another boy. But it would have been nice if….

Beneath the double, now triple sets of snoring coming from the other beds, Ron caught a hint of a sniffle, then another one.

“Malfoy,” he whispered loudly. “Are you crying?”

The sniffling stopped abruptly, like the rotten little cry-baby was holding his breath. Then, after a long pause, “No-ohhh…?”

Ron snorted. Malfoy… why was he even here? He came from a long line of snakes, he’d been bragging that he’d be in Slytherin before they’d even set foot on Hogwarts—not very sneaky, that. Kind of loud and obvious and upfront about it actually. Now there was a kid whose brain to mouth filter was turned off—for life—if he'd ever had one in the first place.

Hmm, that was pretty straightforward. Non-sneaky even. Maybe Malfoy did belong in Gryffindor, just a little. But why would he want to be here? What was in it for him? Then, a sudden flash of insight caught Ron by surprise.

“Malfoy, did you think Harry Potter would be sorted into Gryffindor?”

The silence was too quiet. Poncy git was holding his breath again, like that would make Ron forget he was there (if only). Then, a quiet, “… maybe….”

Ron was aces at chess, though not so much at people. Now, faced with this incomprehensible turn of events, he was forced to kick his strategy-minded brain into gear and make it think through the whys and hows of these weird goings-on, three steps forward, three steps back. It was just like chess moves, but with real people.

Malfoy had met Harry Potter on the train; he must have been thrilled. Ron had been thrilled—this was not such a leap. If Ron had already built castles in the air about becoming fast friends with Harry Potter (what adventures they would have!), Malfoy could have done the same.

Harry hadn’t seemed too thrilled about Malfoy though, but what did Malfoy care about that? He saw, he wanted, he got it, the spoiled brat. He must have wanted to be close to Potter so badly that it was the first thing the Sorting Hat saw when it touched his head. And sent him packing to Gryffindor.

Then, it was Harry’s turn. What would have gone through Harry’s head? If it were Ron, it would have been, “ _blergh_ , not Malfoy” for sure. So, it was off to Slytherin for him, as far away as he could get from Malfoy. Good for Harry. He'd just wanted to escape. Ron couldn’t blame him for that.

Which led to this sorry state of affairs. Harry, in the den of snakes, and Ron stuck being roommates with bloody Malfoy for the next seven years, selfish git. And he’d looked forward to coming to Hogwarts, too.

Disgusted, but pleased to have figured it all out, Ron let himself drift off to sleep.

#

That first week was passed in a whirl.

Ron could barely keep up with all his new classes, but half the fun was finding the way to the classrooms, jumping from moving staircase to moving staircase, running down the halls and avoiding portraits, and prefects, yelling at them to settle down.

Seamus and Dean were good sorts, and Ron stuck close to them. Oddly enough, Draco Malfoy tagged along, too. He didn’t like being left out of anything, even if he complained and tried to stride ahead of them the whole time. Dean Thomas thought he was hilarious. Then again, Dean didn’t even pick up that Malfoy was trying to snub him for being Muggleborn, though not too obviously after being smacked down in front of all Gryffindor that first day.

Neville was always getting lost. Ron didn’t know if it was because he was always losing his toad and trying to find him, or because he got lost all on his own. Neville was just hopeless.

Ron saw Harry again in double Potions. His brothers had warned him about Professor Snape. (Percy: “He’s very strict, Professor Snape. You'll have to prepare before classes, or you’ll get caught out and lose points.” Or Fred and George: “He’s a right git,” and “You’re either Slytherin or you’re a dunderhead.” “Personally, George, I think dunderhead doesn’t suit our ickle Ronniekins.” “You know what, Fred? I must agree. Blunderbuss. Dumbledoss? Rumblebus!” “Rumblebus!”)

Snape, however, didn’t seem too fond of Harry Potter and his Slytherin tie. Ron winced in sympathy as Snape grilled poor Harry on things he couldn’t possibly have known; Ron certainly didn’t. (Percy: “You should have read ahead, Ron. It’s all in the Introduction.” "Nobody reads the Introduction, Perce.")

Draco Malfoy was bursting to show off his superior Potions knowledge, and was treated to a withering glance when he got it wrong.

“Aconite’s the same as monkshood,” Hermione Granger hissed at him. “Honestly, Draco, don’t you read?”

"Don't call me Draco, Mudblo–"

And they both got points taken from Gryffindor for talking. Draco and Hermione were mortified. It was almost worth the loss in points to see that.

Harry Potter gave Ron a wry grin across the classroom _. Those awful show-offs._ And Ron felt that pang of could-have-been again. Why couldn’t Harry have been in Gryffindor?

The other Slytherin boys had paired off. Nott (now there was a sneaky Slytherin, if Ron ever saw one) and that sleek sphynx, Zabini, were an easy fit. And Malfoy's former ~~boulders~~ minions stuck with each other, though they didn't seem to know what to do with themselves, leaving Harry with a pug-faced girl who clung to his arm like a limpet, even when he was stirring.

At dinner, Lavender Brown told Parvati Patil that Harry Potter was sweet on Pansy Parkinson, and she wasn't even _pretty_. Just because they were both in Slytherin... And Parvati Patil said that didn't Harry Potter have this sort of delicate, aristocratic way about him, like the lost prince of Slytherin? Lavender Brown agreed with a sigh. Weren't wizards with a touch of darkness just _fascinating_?

At that, Malfoy started gagging on a roast potato and Hermione Granger had to thump him on the back before he almost choked to death. She was the only one in Gryffindor who put up with the obnoxious bastard anyway. Ron didn't care. He didn't want to end up with Malfoy as a best friend, even if he wasn't that keen on Neville as a last resort.

Neville didn't like Malfoy much either, not after that stunt Malfoy pulled during flying lessons. Hermione Granger had scolded furiously, trying to make Draco stop, and almost broke her ankle going after him. Lavender and Parvati had to help her hobble to the Hospital Wing after Neville.

It had been up to Harry Potter to put Malfoy in his place. He'd even returned Neville's Rememberall afterwards. The others had already taken off on their school brooms, whoops of excitement coming from the field.

"Here," he said shyly, holding out the red orb to Ron. "Could you give this back to your friend? I figured he'd want it back."

"Sure," said Ron, and grinned at Harry. "So, how's Slytherin treating you?"

Harry shrugged. "All right, I guess." Then he sighed, and it all came out in a rush: "There's a lot of complicated pureblood stuff I have to figure out on my own--nobody really explains anything like you did on the train, except for Pansy, and her explanations are all, who married who, and who wants to marry who, and who doesn't get on with this other family because somebody's grandmother was this amazingly beautiful witch, and everyone a hundred years ago were just deadgone for love of her, and it's all kind of… _yuck_."

Ron burst out laughing at the look on Harry's face, and Harry joined in, relieved.

"I'm glad we're still okay, you know, after the Sorting?" said Harry sheepishly. "Remember, 'not a wizard who's gone dark who wasn't from Slytherin' and all that? I thought you wouldn't even talk to me afterwards."

The shame of that floored Ron for a moment. He had thought exactly that, hadn't he? Judged Harry hastily and written him off as a lost cause, just because he'd sorted Slytherin? How unfair was that? When Harry was just Harry, and Malfoy, one of their own lions, was a turd of the first flush.

Ron laughed uneasily. "Would I do that, Harry? Kick me if I'm ever that wrong-headed, will you?" And he made up his mind, once and for all, and stuck out his hand. "Friends? Even if we're in different houses?"

Harry clasped his hand firmly. "Like Romeo and Juli--" and stopped short with a groan. "I have to make Pansy stop with all this lovey dovey nonsense. It's rotting my brain. Anyway, is it true that Malfoy and the Mudblood are an item? They're like this old married couple, always ragging on each other."

Ron guffawed, caught between horror and laughter. "Is that what they're saying in Slytherin? Wait till I tell Seamus-- But, Harry, Mudblood's a really foul term. Hermione's not my favorite person, but you really shouldn't call her that. It's just… it's just wrong."

Harry nodded. "See, this is why I need you, Ron. Nobody in Slytherin will tell me stuff like that. Thanks. Are we still good?"

"Sure we are. The absolute best."

And the universe made sense again. Good people were still basically good, and spoiled rich assholes were just as rotten to the core as Ron had always suspected they were, whatever colors they were currently draped in. He'd just learned a valuable lesson about looking past the trappings of House bias to discover the true worth of a person. Thank Merlin and Morgana he'd given Harry another chance, before it was too late. Before Harry went around thinking blood purity and 'Mudblood' was okay, and was truly lost.

Only, later--much, _much_ later--did it occur to Ron that he hadn't been the one to orchestrate that fateful second meeting. Harry had done most of the talking, flustered and rambling as it had been, though undeniably goofy in Harry's rough and simple way. None of that was calculated--was it?

Or had there been a glint in his eye? A sly, sideways glance to gauge what sort of response he was getting as he switched between amusing and subtly guilt-tripping Ron into taking him back again, then laying out a glaring misstep so that he could trip over it, and blunt, honest Ron Weasley could correct him and lead him back to the light. And it was so nice to be needed.

Who exactly was taking back whom, here?

So, maybe that old Hat hadn't been so bang out of shape after all, about either Malfoy or Potter--or about the tiny shard in Harry's head that had once been part of someone far more clever and calculating.

Only time would tell.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy was on his way to being the most unpopular kid in Gryffindor. He really didn't have a lot of competition.

Even Hermione Granger, who'd never had any friends before Hogwarts, got along better with the rest of their House than he did. Lavender and Parvati thought the way she kept standing up for 'poor Draco' was a bit misguided, but it showed that her heart was in the right place. 

"He's not exactly a bad boy, is he?" Parvati wondered out loud. "Just petty and kind of annoying."

"Like really, _really_ annoying," agreed Lavender. "And short, too, _ugh._ You're _so good_ for putting up with him," she said to Hermione fervently. 

_Better you than me,_ she meant. Angelina Johnson had been casting a beedy eye over the first years, as if she were about to single out one of them to be the designated 'Malfoy minder,' just to make sure the twerp wasn't completely ostracized.

Percy Weasley had already had that talk with Ron. 

"But why does it have to be me?" whined Ron.

"Don't be such a selfish baby, Ron," Percy admonished. "We can't let it be said that Gryffindors are bullying the poor Malfoy kid."

"Maybe some people deserve a spot of bullying," Ron said loudly, as the person in question walked quickly past them. "Might make them think twice about being an _obnoxious twat_ that nobody likes!" 

"Ron! Language!" Percy smacked him upside the head. "And I think he heard you."

"Good," he muttered, which earned him another smack.

So Ron was grateful that Hermione Granger had already volunteered, and without anyone asking her to. Turned out it was a good thing she was a busybody and know-it-all. Saved the rest of them a world of trouble.

Not that Draco Malfoy was grateful. He still called her Mudblood when he thought the prefects weren't listening, and sneered at her hair, her teeth, her penmanship. 

By the time Halloween rolled around, even Hermione looked heartily sick of him.

"Trouble in paradise?" Harry waggled his eyebrows at a frustrated Granger, who threw a wad of crumpled-up parchment in Malfoy's face and stomped off. 

"Oh, no, what did that tosser say now?" groaned Ron. "He really should have been in Slytherin."

"Hey, we don't want your rejects," joked Harry. "Besides if he can't cut it in Gryffindor, there's no way he'd survive the snake pit. Maybe you can pack him off to Hufflepuff. What a dud. And you're sure he's not a squib?"

"Harry!"

"Sorry, sorry, _mea culpa,"_ said Harry, looking anything but, with that cocky grin on his face. They met up everyday at the Italian fountain near the Ravenclaw mezzanine to eat lunch together and trade notes. Harry thought it should be a regular thing, so they didn't change plans when something else came up and slowly drift apart.

Ron wasn't too worried about Harry being pushed around in that den of vipers anymore. If anything, Harry looked like he was coming out on top. He'd even acquired Malfoy's old minions. Crabbe and Goyle followed him around, relieved to have someone else calling the shots again. 

"Anyway, I wanted to know if you'd be into playing inter-house Quidditch," said Harry.

"But we're just first years."

"Just because we can't play on the House teams doesn't mean we can't play period," Harry argued. "We can play mixed teams with anyone who wants to play. It doesn’t even have to be full teams, just enough to make up two sides—wouldn’t that work?"

"My brothers and I play pick-up Quidditch at home," said Ron, his excitement rising. "You double up on playing Chaser and Beater, and everyone gets to be Keeper for their side."

Harry nodded. "We still need a faculty sponsor, though. I thought maybe you could ask McGonagall? Professor Snape doesn't like me much, so…"

"Git," muttered Ron. "Sure, I'll ask her. We can use school brooms, and we can book the pitch for practice, just like the regular teams do. We'll be so ready to join up next year, what with all the practice we'll be getting."

Harry beamed at that. "Yeah, I thought it would give us an edge. The captains are sure to take notice. Vince and Greg want to play Beaters." He nodded in the direction of his two goons. "And I've talked to Zach Smith and Michael Corner. We can put up flyers in the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Common rooms, too."

Harry had talked to those guys first? Before Ron? Right, he wasn't the only one who'd wanted to be Harry Potter's friend. Of course, Harry would have friends in each House. Harry was turning out to be a natural leader. He was just… _cool._

"Blimey, Harry, you've got to have some standards," gasped Ron. "Everyone _says_ they've been on a broom since they were six, but can they actually fly worth a twig? We can't let just anybody join, or we'll end up babysitting every whiny little twat who talks a big game."

A shiny blond head dashed past them, and Ron caught a hint of a crumpled face about to burst into tears.

Harry made an enquiring face. "What's that all about?" 

Ron smothered a groan. "Bugger, he must have thought we were talking about him."

"Not _this_ time," Harry reminded him, which made Ron groan all over again, remembering what they’d said.

"Do you think he heard…? Bloody hell. And Percy made me promise to look out for him."

"Aw, you Gryffindors are just a bunch of putty tats, aren't you? How _tweet._ " 

"Oh shut it, Potter." 

Ron shook his head to dispel his unease. He wasn't Malfoy's keeper. And Malfoy should just toughen up. It wasn’t as if that tetchy git didn’t spout all sorts of noxious garbage himself.

Still, it bothered Ron all the way up to the Halloween feast. Draco wasn't there. No one had seen him since that afternoon--Hermione had asked around.

"Probably sitting in a bathroom, eating a sandwich," said Neville, who shrugged when everyone turned to stare at him. “I found him like that once, and I didn’t ask.”

“But eating… in a _toilet?_ ” Seamus made a face, and half the other first years joined in on his disgusted, “ _Ewww._ ”

“Sometimes you’ve just got to be by yourself,” said Neville quietly, just as Professor Quirrell shuffled into the Great Hall and wailed, “Troll! In the dungeons!” before falling into a faint.

Everyone was screaming and running for the doors, even as the Headmaster’s great booming voice, augmented by a _Sonorus_ charm, ordered them all to keep calm and follow their prefects. Ron had climbed up on the bench to look for Percy’s familiar head when Hermione Granger grabbed Neville’s sleeve and demanded, “Neville, which toilet?”

“Wha… what?”

“Which toilet does Draco hide in?”

Neville desperately tried to extricate himself. “Uh… the one around the corner. Nearest the Potions classroom.” And he ran off with the others.

Ron was not so lucky.

“Come on,” hissed Hermione, her iron grip now clamped around his wrist. “We’ve got to go find him.”

“What? Why?”

“Draco’s in a bathroom. In the _dungeons_ ,” said Hermione ominously, already dragging him along with her.

“Yeah,” said Ron. “And there’s a troll in the—oh, right. I see what you're getting at. But he’s probably gone already. I mean, how long can it take to eat a sandwich?”

“He’s not there to gobble up a _sandwich_ , Ronald! He’s hiding in the toilets--alone!—because he’s _upset!_ And it’s all my fault. I… I said some things to him today.” Hermione looked guilt-stricken. “He’s very sensitive.”

“Er…” Ron had said some things, too, after Hermione. Probably worse things. “All right, let’s go find the useless plonker. But if we get eaten by a troll, I’m blaming you.”

Too bad for them, they didn’t really know their way around the dungeons. The roar of a mountain troll echoed down the hallway, but that hallway didn’t lead to anything that appeared to be a boys’ toilet, or even a girls’ toilet. (Ron wouldn’t put it past Draco Malfoy to hang out in a girls’ toilet.)

After walking into two storage closets and wringing a stuck doorknob to what turned out to be an unused classroom, they were getting pretty frantic. Especially after they heard a familiar high-pitched scream.

“He's going to get himself _killed!”_ shrilled Hermione and, blinded by tears, ran straight into a set of Slytherin school robes.

“Who’s going to get killed?” asked Harry Potter, as he helped her up. “And what are you two doing down here? If you haven’t heard, there’s a troll on the loose.”

Ron expelled the breath he'd been holding in relief. “Oh, thank Merlin! Harry, we’re looking for Draco Malfoy. Only, I think the troll’s found him first.”

"What? That was him? I thought it had gotten hold of someone's cat. Come on!"

Harry took charge then and there, turning left, right, and right again, Ron and Hermione gasping to keep up. 

And there was the troll. They could smell it as they neared--either that, or all the pipes in the latrines had exploded. Gagging, Ron took a step back, his eyes watering at the intense punch of stink. 

"Draco, watch out!" Hermione shrieked, as the troll raised its club and smashed it down on a row of sinks. "Wingardium Leviosa!" 

"Stupefy!" yelled Harry at the same time, and a white-faced Draco Malfoy floated out of the way of the flying debris, as a ton of stunned mountain troll went crashing to the floor.

"Hermione!" squeaked Malfoy, panicking again as he floated gently above the troll, his head bobbing to almost hit the ceiling tiles. "How do I get down?"

"I don't know!" cried Hermione. "We didn't learn the spell to reverse it yet!"

"Just pretend you're swimming," Ron called out. "Like the air's water and you want to come over down this way."

"Indeed, Mr. Weasley," intoned a flat voice. 

Professor Snape was joined shortly by Professor McGonagall, out of breath and wisps of grey hair escaping from her severe bun, and a grim Headmaster, whose eyes regained their twinkle as they all watched Draco Malfoy frog-stroke his way to the ground. 

Ron steeled himself for the whining and complaining that would follow, and the arguably justified blame that Malfoy would fling their way. 

So they were all surprised when Malfoy sniffled and looked beseechingly at Professor McGonagall. "It's all _my_ fault, Professor," he confessed, in a sobby voice interrupted by hiccups. "I heard about the troll, and I thought I could take care of it. I wanted to look brave in front of the other Gryffindors. Hermione and Ron only came after me because they were worried about me."

"And Mr. Potter?" inquired an unimpressed Professor Snape.

Harry just looked sheepish. "I ran into Weasley and Granger outside Potions lab 3, sir. They were on their way to save Malfoy, but I guess they got lost? I had to help."

"Potter stunned the troll!" said Malfoy, as if he'd just remembered. Ron reckoned, from his perspective, Hermione was the one who'd whisked him out of harm's way. He stared at Harry now, unable to process this on top of everything else.

"Impressive, to take down a fully grown mountain troll," said Professor Dumbledore, as Snape stepped back with a sneer. The headmaster did not look as pleased as he might have been, considering Harry's advanced wandwork and the sheer amount of power it must have taken.

To Ron's surprise, it was Professor McGonagall who awarded Harry ten points for his stunning spell, and ten points to Ron and Hermione, for running to Malfoy's rescue. (Malfoy didn't object, 'But Weasley didn't even do anything,' as Ron expected him to.) Professor Dumbledore looked like he wanted to give Malfoy extra points for his excellent swimming, but refrained. Professor Snape just looked like he'd bitten into a slug that had gotten in his salad.

But after that, Gryffindor House decided the Malfoy brat was okay, if a bit rash and foolhardy, though Fred and George called him Troll-biscuits for weeks. Draco started sharing the expensive sweets his mother sent him with the rest of his yearmates, which eased his path to likeability immensely. And he dropped the M-word from his vocabulary and called Hermione, 'Granger'--like she was one of the boys.

Ron supposed they were friends now. Knowing that some people would be there for you, even if they had to get through a twelve-foot mountain troll, just changed things.

Draco even invited Hermione to Malfoy Manor for the Christmas holidays. She'd saved his life, after all. Hermione was so excited. She'd never been in a real wizarding house before.

Ron had a bad feeling about this.


	3. Chapter 3

"Do you think she'll be all right?" 

"Hmm?" Harry looked up from the chess board. His rook was about to get slaughtered and it was all for nothing, unless.... Ron pretended he didn't spot how Harry could turn his current loss into a strategic advantage in three moves.

"Hermione. Do you think she'll be alright at the Malfoys'?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't see why not. As far as Draco's concerned, she saved his life."

"His father won't like that, owing a life debt to a Muggleborn," Ron pointed out. 

They were playing chess at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. It was the first time Ron had mustered up the courage to sit here, and only because mostly everyone had left for the holidays. Despite what Fred and George had said, his robes didn't catch on fire for daring to cross into enemy territory. The only other person was a bored fifth year sitting farther up, pretending to read when he was actually watching the house elves decorate the twelve Christmas trees Hagrid had brought in.

"She'll be their guest, won't she?" said Harry, nodding at his knight to get a move on it. "She'll be breaking bread with them under their own roof. Even Lucius Malfoy won't revoke guest-right and bring a curse upon his house, just because he can't stand Muggleborns. She'll be safer than anyone, don't worry. Anyway, Ron, I meant to ask you. Have you heard of this thing called 'the Philosopher's Stone'?"

Ron shook his head. "Nope, what's that? Sounds dead boring if you ask me. Like a nagging version of Neville's Rememberall. Do you ask it stodgy questions and it answers back? 'Hey, Socrates, is it alright if I copy off Seamus' Potions homework?'"

" _'Sure, if you want a Dreadful from Snape_ ,'" quipped Harry, and they both snickered. 

Harry's relationship with his Head of House hadn't improved any as the term drew to a close, and Ron wondered if Snape would make things difficult. Harry had jumped at the chance to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas--anything not to go back to those dreadful Muggle relatives of his--and Ron wanted to invite him to spend the summer at the Burrow, before any of the other boys got around to it. 

He was mentally congratulating himself on his foresight when Harry's pawn toddled up from the side and planted itself firmly between Harry's queen and Ron's own menacing knight. Oh, well, that would have been too easy.

"Anyway, what's this all about?" Ron asked, and Harry hunched over the board and gave him a conspiratorial look. 

"It's something Hagrid mentioned--let slip actually," whispered Harry. "It's very important and it's hidden somewhere in Hogwarts. The professors are all in on it."

"I could ask Percy about it," said Ron.

"Okay, but you have to be real casual about it," said Harry. "Don't let on that you're really interested."

"Do you think it's some kind of secret treasure?"

Harry nodded. "Otherwise, why would the teachers be so hush hush, and then let someone like Hagrid just give it away like that? I swear, it's like he _wanted_ me to find out."

"I wonder if it's a sort of secret prize," Ron speculated. "Something besides boring stuff like doing your homework and winning points to fuss over."

"Yeah, because winning the House Cup because you answered a bunch of pop quiz questions in class, what a snore," Harry scoffed. "Like _that's_ what's going to make me a great wizard. I bet this is what we're really supposed to be focused on at Hogwarts, not just writing a bunch of dumb essays and asking permission to go to the loo."

"That's got to be it," said Ron. "They _want_ us to find the Philosopher's Stone! It's gotta be like _secretly_ winning the House Cup. Only, this is the one that matters."

Look at him now, working out the _real_ meaning behind things and going for the hidden gold. Ron liked how Harry's Slytherin cunning was rubbing off on him in the best possible way; this was what inter house cooperation was all about!

"So, are you in?" Harry got up on both knees and intoned solemnly down at him, like he was King Arthur and Ron was one of his knights about to embark upon a quest. "Will you, Ronald Bilius Weasley, help me find--" his voice dropped to a whisper "the Philosopher's Stone. Against the many obstacles and difficulties that we shall doubtless face--"

"For richer or for poorer," Fred called out mockingly. "Till death do us part?" 

"Why, yes, Harry, oh, yes! I thought you'd never ask!" George replied in a girly falsetto, fluttering his lashes violently, hands clasped to his chest, before both twins fell over with raucous laughter. The few scattered occupants of the Great Hall looked over at them curiously and smirked.

"Oh, sod off, you berks," scowled Ron, and nodded firmly at Harry. "Of course I'm in."

"Great, I knew I could count on you," said Harry, beaming at him. "Checkmate."

#

They roamed all over the castle but they didn't find it, even with Harry's father's invisibility cloak, which was the best of their Christmas haul.

What they did find on one of their secret explorations was the Mirror of Erised. 

Ron was sure it showed them the future. He could see himself all grown up as Quidditch Captain and Head Boy. The Minister of Magic was shaking his hand while his parents-- _and_ his best friend, Harry!--looked on proudly. 

"Maybe," said Harry. He didn't look too convinced.

"Why, what did you see?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "Just me. I was holding a Chocolate Frog Card. Wait a sec." He came back with his collection and started flipping through them, brow furrowed in thought. "Maybe it means I'm going into the candy business. Like Willy Wonka."

"Willy who?"

"Never mind," muttered Harry, still focused on the cards. "Though I would have thought he'd be shoe-in for secret wizard."

Hermione came back from her visit to Malfoy Manor almost exploding with enthusiasm. Draco preened with satisfaction as she regaled the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Their place is _so gorgeous_ ! It's definitely a heritage house; it's got to be. It's just like Chatsworth House, where the Duchess of Devonshire lives. My parents took me once. I think I saw a portrait of Elizabeth Woodville in the gallery--Draco, was she really? But _of course_ she was a witch! That makes _perfect sense!_ Wait till I tell my mum! She'd be so thrilled! And Mr. Malfoy took us out to the paddock to show us the Abraxan horses! I would have loved to ride one. But Mr. Malfoy said they were..." 

Hermione suddenly went red and choked up, and Ron was ready to yell at that stupid tosser for letting his father insult Hermione when she was his guest. But Hermione said rather hurriedly, "Mr. Malfoy said they were in season right now _,_ and would go wild if someone were to sit astride them, especially if that someone were _coffavirgincoffcoff…_ "

"What was that, Hermione? I didn't hear you," cooed Lavender Brown.

"I said, a _virgin,"_ Hermione said crossly, and added, "I don't know what there is to giggle about. It's not as if I'd be sexually active when I'm twelve."

"Sekshually-- _wot?!"_ Ron's ears went red, and Seamus and Dean guffawed. 

"Oh, honestly! You're such _children,_ " Hermione said, glaring at them.

"Well, Hermione," Neville said to her, solemnly. "It's not like we're _twelve."_

And the others bowled over laughing. Hermione flounced out of the Tower in a huff, hugging the armful of books Lucius Malfoy had given her for a Christmas present. Draco followed on her heels, but not before treating them all to a dirty look and a final, "You lot couldn't have been _nicer_ to her?"

The _gall_ of Malfoy to say that, after the rest of them had spent half the previous term smacking him for being beastly to Hermione. 

But then Parvati mocked, " _Oh, Draco! I didn't know how much I liked you until I saw what a big…_ house _you had!"_

And she and Lavender clutched each other not to die laughing. 

"No, but that makes her Lizzie Bennet to his Mr. Darcy, and that's just wrong!" gasped Lavender. "She's more of a _Mary_ Bennet, don't you think? The way she's such a terrible swot."

Ron looked at the boys in bewilderment, but they didn't know what the girls were yammering about either. Probably some silly witch stuff.

Neville just cradled Trevor and sighed. "And now there's _two_ of them." 

That was true. Malfoy didn't have to do any of his own bragging this time, not with Hermione going at it like his own personal town crier -- was that what he'd intended when he invited her? Turn Hermione into his faithful minion? Or was Draco under Hermione's protection now, and his snooty parents were using her as his human shield in Gryffindor? 

Ron's head was spinning, what with trying to figure out all these underhanded motivations. That's what came of having a snake in Gryffindor House.

But later, a more cautious Hermione confessed to Neville and the girls: "Mr. Malfoy was really nice--maybe even too nice, like he was trying _really_ hard to be nice to me. But Mrs. Malfoy was kind of stand-offish, even... cold? Really really polite, though. Maybe even too polite, if there is such a thing. But her _clothes_ were just amazing! I never thought beautiful clothes were so _interesting_ before!"

"Uh…." and Neville retreated as this devolved into more girl talk. 

Ron was just relieved Hermione had come out of that visit unscathed. She and Draco seemed to have settled into an affable study-buddyship, out of his hair and minding each other in the library, leaving him and Harry free to pursue their secret quest for the Philosopher's Stone.

Because Harry ended up finding out about it, in the unlikeliest of places. 

"Dumbledore!" Harry yelled excitedly as he ran down the hallway to greet Ron. He was waving a Chocolate Frog Card with the Headmaster on it.

"Oh, I've got lots of him," said Ron. "Now, if you've found a Wendelin the Weird tied to the stake but with green flames instead of orange, then we're talking rare collector's item."

"No, read the rest of the card," insisted Harry. 

"Dumbledore… famous for his duel with _yadda yadda,_ uses of dragon's blood, alchemy, _blah blah,_ Nicholas… what am I supposed to be looking for, Harry?"

Harry shuffled through his cards so fast he almost dropped the whole deck--he didn't though; Harry had Seeker's reflexes. "Here," and gave Ron another card. Ron read it dutifully. 

" _Nicholas Flamel_ , huh, same bloke. _Study of alchemy_ , hmm, only known creator of... _the Philosopher's Stone!_ Harry, this is it! That must be how Professor Dumbledore got a hold of it-- he's friends with this Flamel guy. But what is it?"

Harry walked him quickly down the hallway and jumped on a moving staircase just as it started shifting. "So, I looked into what alchemy's all about."

"It's about turning stuff into gold, right?" said Ron. "Dead useful that is. I wish we learned stuff like that in Potions, instead of melting cauldrons trying to make a decent boil creme."

"That's because you added the porcupine quills _after_ it started bubbling," Harry said absently. "Right, about turning stuff into gold. That's what a Philosopher's Stone is supposed to do. Make infinite gold and produce the Elixir of Life."

"What's that?"

"Makes you live longer."

"So, basically what you're saying is you get all the gold you'd ever need, and live as long as you want?" Ron's mind was well and truly boggled. Who wouldn't want something like that? "Now that's what I call a proper prize."

"Right?" Harry grinned at him. "We'll just have to promise we'll share."

"Of course, we will," agreed Ron. "That's the whole beauty of 'infinite.'"

But dividing their future good fortune was easier than tracking down its source, and as spring rolled around, they were no closer to finding the Stone than wishing it would fall out of one of Harry's Chocolate Frog Cards. 

They had even taken to wandering the castle at night under Harry's invisibility cloak again, hoping that they'd find a mysterious door or a specially marked archway (marked by _what_ neither of them could say), and had almost got _eaten_ by a three-headed dog for their troubles, and had to be saved by Professor Quirrell of all people. (Why would anyone keep a dog like that in a _school,_ for Merlin's sake?) That just earned them detentions and lost them House points.

As if _House points_ even mattered.

"It's just not _fair,_ " groaned Ron, as he pushed the portrait door aside and staggered into the Gryffindor Common Room. His fingers were still numb from polishing the silver in the old trophy room. What was the point of scouring spells if Filch made you polish those fiddly things by hand? The rumors must be correct--Filch _had_ to be a squib.

"What's not fair?" 

A burnished golden head looked up from an armchair in front of the fireplace.

"Life, the universe… life," Ron hedged, hoping the nosy git would just let it go.

As if Draco was the sort to ever just let things go. 

He narrowed his eyes at Ron. "This is why you've lost all those points, isn't it? It's what you've been doing, sneaking around with Potter. What _have_ you been doing, anyway?"

"Skipping rope, weaving daisy-chains," said Ron. "What's it to you? Mind your own business, Malfoy."

"It _is_ my own business if you lose us House points, Ron!" argued Draco. "You're getting Gryffindor in trouble. You're getting us all into trouble."

"You're worried about Gryffindor, now? That's rich." Ron was too tired for this.

"I'm Gryffindor, too, you tosser!" insisted Malfoy. "Besides, you're worrying Hermione."

"You're on my case because your _girlfriend's_ upset?"

"Shut up! Shutupshutupshutup!"

Ron fell backwards on the hearthrug laughing and Draco beat him with a cushion until they were both out of breath, then he tried smothering Ron with it. 

"Bleurgh," Ron spat out dust, and probably dustmites. "Nargles."

Draco twisted his face. "What's that?"

"Dunno," said Ron. "Just something this friend of Ginny's keeps going on about. Bill says she's either mental, or a genius."

"Could be both," said Draco, and sat down next to him, stretching his thin girly fingers before the fire. Then, he started making shadow puppets. "Look, erumpent."

Against the hearth stones, the erumpent lowered its shadowy horn and charged at them with a great resounding honk.

"Show off," snorted Ron. "So… you and Hermione."

Draco's shoulders hunched up as he looked resolutely at his knees. "It's not like that," he said after a while. "She's just… she doesn't give up on you. Especially if she counts you as a friend."

"Sure," agreed Ron. "Hermione Granger's good people. Glad you figured that out, Malfoy."

"My father _hates_ her," said Draco, staring into the flames. 

Ron sat up straight. "What? But I thought… Hermione said..."

"He was all smiles and smooth words to her face," said Draco, tearing up scraps of parchment and tossing them in the fire. They turned into flaming butterflies before they fell away to ashes. "It was kind of scary actually."

Lucius Malfoy smiling so hard it hurt to look. It must be like tigers showing their teeth before they ate you. "Yikes."

"Yeah." Draco shook his head. "He and mother were fighting a lot. About me. About me being in Gryffindor. Mother supports me, though. She said she had a cousin in Gryffindor. First in his family, too. She said he was really brave."

"Yeah." 

Ron didn't know how to talk to someone like this. Harry wasn't like this. He didn't go dump his _feelings_ over you like this. But Malfoy seemed to have recovered somewhat. Ron cracked a smile. 

"So, you two aren't secretly betrothed or anything? You're just eleven, man. And older women..." He waggled his eyebrows. Ron didn't know anything about older women; it just sounded funny in his head. Malfoy decked him with a cushion again. 

"Wanker." But he was grinning, too. "Anyway, I think Hermione's already got someone. She's always writing to him. I think he's a lot older than us actually. His name's Tom."

Later, in the middle of the night, Ron woke up with a start as his brain finally pieced it together. 

"But, of _course_! That's why we have a three-headed dog in the school! That's where they've hidden it!"

Four pillows hit him all at once. "Go to _sleep, Ron!_ "

He couldn't wait to tell Harry.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chatsworth House and the Duchess of Devonshire is a tangled-up Mitford connection, even though Narcissa is supposed to be Diana, who married England's top fascist, not Deborah, who ended up with the big house and title. 
> 
> Elizabeth Woodville was a knight's widow who married Edward IV. She and her mother, Jacquetta, were said to be witches even in their day. Because how else did a hot, smart woman end up marrying a king, and making sure her daughter married another king (Henry VII) instead of getting wiped off the board after her husband died? Duh, witches. 
> 
> I see Hermione's mom, Dr. Granger, as having a weakness for trashy Phillipa Gregory novels while pretending to be a serious history buff, and visiting grand houses, wrapping them up as family 'educational' trips. XD
> 
> Jane Austen, of course, was a witch. Double duh. Right before the Statute of Secrecy dropped in Queen Victoria's time and locked the Wizarding World into step with that period.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only March and the gang's already going after the Stone. This is what you get with an extra ambitious Harry. 😆

Hermione, most emphatically, did _not_ think looking for the Philosopher's Stone was a brilliant idea. If the teachers wanted you to do something--i.e. your homework, win points for your House--then, they would just _tell_ you to do them. It wasn't a secret code for you to do something else.

"So, she's not going to help us," said Harry, adjusting the invisibility cloak to cover Ron's shoulder. 

"Worse," huffed Ron. "I'm going to have to watch out, so she doesn't stop me. She says," he switched to a girly falsetto, " _You'll lose Gryffindor ever so many points!"_

"Well, that's my secret plan." Harry grinned. "Bring down Gryffindor's chances for the Cup."

"What, really?" squeaked Ron, as Harry stepped on his foot. They'd barely missed running straight into a sleepy Percy Weasley going back into the Tower with a mug of warm milk.

Ron waited as his heartbeat slowed down from scared rabbit to normal. Harry was rolling his eyes-- Ron could tell from the sardonic glint to his glasses.

"Yes, really, Ron. That was my secret plan all along," mocked Harry. "Because I'm an evil Slytherin. Bringing Gryffindor down is the only reason for my existence."

"Uh, sorry," said Ron sheepishly. "Girls! Who needs her anyway?"

"You'll just have to be super _duper_ sneaky around her then," said Harry. "Unleash your inner Slytherin!"

And thinking the coast was clear, they ran down the hallway and down the spiral staircase leading to the abandoned corridor.

Neither of them noticed the sneaky little snake who'd followed them from Gryffindor Tower.

#

Ron thought it was brilliant when Harry figured out how to get past Fluffy: play him music. 

There would be more trials after that. This was about testing their worthiness, after all. But the next test shouldn't be right after they'd solved the first one! At least give them a chance to catch their breath, not choke it out of them immediately with a great murderous vine. 

That was when Ron wished desperately that Hermione was with them. She would have known how to get them out of this pickle. 

"Lumos maxima!" someone yelled from the trapdoor. The vine flinched from them for a second, and a second was all Harry needed to shoot and Incendio at the roots. They dropped to the ground and rolled. A third thump landed next to them and yelled, "Run, it's not dead yet!"

They all went scrambling to the next door and slammed it behind them. 

"Thank--"

Ron was cut off by a furious Draco Malfoy. 

"What do you two blockheads think you're doing?" Draco screamed at them. "You're going to get yourselves killed! You're going to get in so much trouble! Do you know how much Hermione's worried about you?" 

"Hey, Malfoy, just relax a mo--" Harry tried to calm him down, which only tipped him over the edge, and Draco fell back on the ground hyperventilating, with his head between his knees.

Ron and Harry exchanged worried looks. "Draco, hey, thanks for helping us out back there. You gonna be okay?"

A pathetic "...no…" came from the sweat-soaked blond head. 

"He's kind of high strung," Ron said apologetically.

"No kidding." Harry was already raring to get going. "Hey, Malfoy, why don't you sit tight? We'll come back for you after--"

"My goodness!"

Three heads whirled around to see the fourth member of their late night excursion land on a perfectly relaxed nest of Devil's Snare.

"Hermione!" squeaked Draco in alarm. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to keep you out of trouble, of course," said the bushy-haired girl, brow furrowed and ready to scold. "What are _you_ doing down here?"

"I was just trying to keep Ron and Potter from getting into trouble!" whined Draco, in his _This isn't fair!_ voice.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but turned her scowl on the other two. 

Harry just shrugged. "You know me, I'm just in it for the fame and glory." 

"Oh, hush you," she told him. "Your callous Slytherin routine is getting pretty old, Harry Potter."

 _What routine?_ Harry mouthed at Ron, the merry glint back in his eyes.

"Come on, Hermione, you didn't even want to come along," said Ron. "In fact, why don't you just stay here and keep Malfoy company while--"

"And let you two idiots get yourselves killed?" she said, marching past them. "I don't think so. You'd be lost without me."

But it was Harry who caught the little winged key, and Ron who directed the giant chess game. Even Malfoy had helped back there, with that awful plant.

This proved it: it _was_ a test of courage and resourcefulness, of curiosity and cleverness and friendship. The professors _wanted_ them to find this intriguing obstacle course. He and Harry were right. This was how you truly won at Hogwarts--and at life.

So, Ron didn't regret it when he mounted the knight's horse to move them onto the next stage, even if he couldn't go with them. Harry would get the others through. Ron's sacrifice would be worth it.

#

Later, they woke up next to each other in the Hospital Wing, just glad to be alive. In the next bed over Draco Malfoy was still sleeping off his ordeal.

Ron sat up against the too soft pillows, itching to run around the castle again and shout at the top of his lungs. He felt restless, as if he'd been sleeping for days. Perhaps he had been. He remembered waking up to eat, use the loo, and have Madam Pomfrey check him over, but sleep had been the most of it.

In the meantime, various teachers and grown-ups had come in to make a huge flap and had gone out again, heads still bowed in whispered conversation. Even the Headmaster had visited, and stayed to have a long conversation with Harry, though Ron couldn't hear any of _that_. Clearly something important had happened, although they were trying to keep it hush hush. 

Did Harry succeed in finding the Stone? Were they trying to keep it secret until the end of the year?

But Harry's face was somber as he stared down at his hands. He hadn't looked up for a long while.

"Ron, it wasn't about winning a secret House Cup, after all," Harry said finally. "It was Voldemort."

#

After they had left Ron on the giant chessboard, there had been one more puzzle, which Hermione had solved. But she chose the potion to go back and make sure Ron was all right and to alert the teachers. Harry should go ahead alone.

"And what about me?" cried Draco. 

Hermione just brushed the dirt off his shiny hair and told him to stay put, just where he was. It was safest that way.

"Let's face it, Draco," said Hermione. "I think you've had enough excitement for one night. And it's Potter's and Ron's little treasure hunt. We should just let them finish it."

#

"But, instead you had to face Voldemort!" gasped Ron. 

"Yeah." Harry let out a breathless laugh. "She almost saved his life a second time, not letting him advance to face that--just me."

"Wait, almost?"

#

What Harry had found in the final chamber was the Mirror of Erised, and Professor Quirrell.

#

"Professor Quirrell?" yelped Ron. "But I thought you said it was You-Know-Who!"

Harry sighed. "Do you want me to finish this story or not?"

"Sorry, go ahead," said Ron, sitting up, wide awake now and hugging his pillow. He didn't get how Draco could sleep through all this ruckus, the lazy bugger.

"He was staring into the Mirror of Erised," said Harry. "He didn't know what it was for. And he wouldn't believe me when I told him it showed the future."

"Git."

"Git Lord _Voldemort_ , you mean," said Harry, his grin widening at Ron's frightened _eep,_ and he really got into his story _._ "No, seriously. Quirrell had Voldemort growing out of the back of his head. He'd been possessing him all year!"

"So that's why he wore that purple turban!" gasped Ron. "Parvati didn't think he was actually Sikh, but she was too embarrassed to ask."

"Yeah, so it was Voldemort who'd wanted the Stone all along," said Harry. "And he wanted me to get it out of the mirror for him."

"What? How?" asked a confused Ron. "Did he think you would have it... in the future?" 

Harry shook his head. "I don't really understand it either. He just got really shirty with me when I said I couldn't. But then he stalked out and dragged Draco in, and tried to make _him_ do it. Threatened all sorts of nasty things he'd do to Draco's parents if he didn't."

"But his family are all big supporters--"

"Of the Git Lord?" Harry snorted. "I don't know about that anymore. Draco's mom came to see him while you were asleep. She's talking to the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall right now. She seemed pretty upset."

"So, did Draco know how?" asked Ron, and Harry looked shifty. 

"I don't really know," said Harry, and Ron didn't see what he could be fidgety about. "Professor Dumbledore explained it to me. He said that only someone who didn't want the stone for himself would be able to get to it. He seemed to think that was why I'd be the one to end up with it. But I didn't."

Ron thought about that. "Because you actually wanted the Stone."

"We both did, didn't we?" insisted Harry. "Infinite gold and infinite life. It was supposed to be a prize."

The horrible part of what that meant just dawned on Ron.

"Wait, so if You-Know-Who got his hands on it…?"

Harry nodded grimly. "That would mean he'd be able to come back."

"So did he--?" Ron was afraid to ask. But it couldn't turn out wrong, could it? Harry was here, a bit dinged up, but mending fast. Even that tosser Draco was going to be okay.

"He kept shaking Draco, and yelling at him to give him the Stone," said Harry. "And Malfoy was white as a sheet, except he was sort of green too, and looked like he was going to throw up on him."

"Wish he did," scowled Ron. "Serve him right, getting Malfoy barf on his evil pointed shoes."

Harry grinned at that. "Yeah. Anyway, so I tried to stop him, and he--Voldemort, I mean--he… he started scorching. His hands started smoking where he grabbed me, and I… I kind of grabbed him back, and then he was burning, and…"

"Blimey, Harry… did you just kill You-Know-Who again?"

Harry looked like he was blinking stinging eyes for tears that wouldn't come, and Ron sat watching his friend worriedly. 

"I… I… don't think so," whispered Harry hoarsely. "Hermione must have alerted the teachers in time because the whole lot of them came rushing into that chamber, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sprout, Professor Snape, even Hagrid. Quirrell fainted about then, and there was a lot of smoke. I think that was Voldemort." Harry winced as he remembered. "I think he got away."

"He's still out there?" squeaked Ron.

Harry nodded grimly. "We're not supposed to talk about it. Dumbledore asked me not to. Except you, of course. I'm sure he meant, don't tell the rest of the school."

"That sounds about right," said Ron. "That would cause a panic, everyone knowing. At least the Stone's safe, then."

"That's the thing," said Harry. "Dumbledore says it's gone. That's why he thought--more like hoped--that I had it. And I swore that I didn't. I think he even believed me in the end," Harry added ruefully. "I think he's rather disappointed in me actually. I think _he_ thinks this means I'm greedy and selfish."

"That's kind of harsh," said Ron. "Who wouldn't want it for what it does?"

"That's why Professor Dumbledore thinks it's lost in the mirror. He thinks it won't show up again until that pure, unselfish person--who's not _me_ \--stands in front of it."

"So it's lost for good then," said Ron disappointed, but that actually seemed to cheer up Harry. Like, _See, Ron thinks it's completely normal to want the Stone for itself._ Harry was okay, just a normal bloke, too.

Overwhelmed, Ron sank back in his pillows. That their little adventure should come to this. And to think, You-Know-Who was out there, still alive, even as a whiff of smoke--bloody hell. And they were barely through March.

How did you go back to your humdrum life of going to lessons and writing essays after this, with no secret sense of purpose? They hadn't even won any points, despite Harry facing off against Voldemort. The Headmaster must really be serious about keeping it mum. 

Then again, any points Harry would have won would have gone to Slytherin, even if he'd been brave as a Gryffindor about it.

As he drifted back to sleep, Ron thought idly that the shine seemed to have gone out of Hogwarts, now that their adventure turned out to be nothing but trouble, and their secret treasure had not been meant for them after all.

Maybe it was still in the mirror.

Maybe it would still be waiting for them in the future.

#

A couple beds over, Draco Malfoy woke up cranky, a little too hot, and dry-mouthed. Pushing down the urge to throw something heavy at a house elf, he reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, and stopped. No wonder he'd been woken up. Something hard and lumpy was digging into his thigh. 

Irritated, he reached into his pocket to remove the bothersome thing, and his eyes went wide.

In the palm of his hand was a blood red stone, and it seemed to be glowing with power.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione Granger's Friendship Venn Diagrams

Ron was friends with Harry Potter, but that didn't mean Hermione had to like him. You didn't all have to be friends, and one friend didn't have to be everything for you. Hermione was learning that. Sometimes you were friends in a group, but sometimes people paired off, like the way Lavender and Parvati were besties, but sometimes Hermione would hang out with them when it was girls vs. boys.

Or how Seamus and Dean were besties, but Neville and Draco and Ron rallied under Harry Potter, who was in Slytherin. Ron and Harry were closest, which would upset Draco, who wanted to be Harry Potter's bestie and cut Ron out, except for when he'd switch and want to be Ron's bestie (because they were both Gryffindors) and cut Harry out.

He always got so worked up about Ron and Harry Potter trying to ditch him. 

"That's because you keep switching and playing them off each other, Draco," scolded Hermione. Not that Draco would listen. 

He also seemed to think that because Greg and Vince--Draco's old friends in Slytherin--followed Harry Potter around now, Harry owed it to Draco to be friends with _him_. As if friendship were a token that could be traded in for another.

Draco was even more pants at this friends business than Hermione had ever been before Hogwarts, when nobody had liked her and she'd been so anxious about being alone that she'd made it even worse.

Hermione had thought Draco would be her studious friend, and that they would sit together in the library and do their homework, and they could talk about books and magic and how things worked in the Wizarding World to her not-so-secretly-nerdy-girl's heart's content.

Draco would sit with her, but more often than not he would get caught up in a frothing rant about Harry Potter, and how Ron should favor Draco, not Harry, and why did Harry keep trying to leave him out of things? It just wasn't _fair!_

Draco Malfoy complaining about unfairness just about made everyone's eyes roll clear out of their heads, which made Draco complain even louder. He got no sympathy in Gryffindor. 

"It's because of my family, isn't it?" Draco ranted. "That's just prejudice! I'm a member of a persecuted minority, here! We're holding onto the core of old magical traditions! It's just like when the Romans invaded and insisted everyone convert to Christianity! There's no shame in defending our turf against the brutal conquerors! I'm standing up for Merlin and the old ways!"

"Draco, Merlin was on the side of the Romans." Hermione shook her head when they got kicked out of the library--again. "He supported Arthur, who was the son of Pendragon, a noted Roman loyalist. Morgana was the one trying to protect the old ways, and she was vilified for it. Probably because she was a woman and a leader."

"What?" Draco gaped at her. How could he not _know?_

"Never mind," she sighed. Nobody understood what she was talking about half the time, nobody except-- "Come on, I'll go talk to Ronald Weasley." _And give him a piece of my mind._

Ron was supposed to help Draco, too, but honestly, Ronald Weasley was rather lazy and had a tendency to ignore problems and assume things would just turn out all right, just so he wouldn't have to do anything about them. 

"It's really quite infuriating," Hermione wrote later. "Ron gives me this _aggrieved_ look, as if I'm spoiling his fun with Harry when I nudge him to include Draco, and does he _have to_? And I can't keep getting thrown out of the library--I have to _work--_ but those boys just won't get along, and-- _ugh,_ I feel like Wendy."

 _Is she another one of your friends?_ Tom asked lazily. He was just waking up.

The diary was Muggle-made--the inside of its leather cover was stamped _Foyle's,_ which was in Charing Cross Road--but writing in it was pure magic. Hermione could feel it come alive, almost hear the boy's amused plummy voice as if he were sitting across from her on her bed in Gryffindor Tower. At least the bed curtains were drawn. Lavender and Parvati would think she'd gone mad. More mad than usual--said the voice in her head. Not Tom’s. The one that sounded like Ron Weasley.

"No, I meant Wendy as in Peter Pan,” explained Hermione, delighted in the anticipation that, but of course Tom would know what she was talking about. “Peter's brought me to Neverland, but I'm stuck looking after the Lost Boys, mothering them instead of going off on adventures, too."

_You don’t much enjoy adventures, I thought. And James Barrie. Now there was a strange little man. I always suspected he was a frustrated Squib who’d been cast out at a young age when he proved to have no magic. He was always writing about running away to a magical land._

"Oh, but that does make sense.” Hermione’s brain lit up. Magic and literature! “And Peter could have been a Muggleborn child who was whisked away to the Wizarding World early. I suppose he must have been an orphan, too. I wonder what it was like, back in those days, being a magical child lost in the Wizarding World. I wonder if they were better at explaining things when the Statute was new and wizards were still figuring out where they drew the line.” 

_Not really,_ Tom said dryly. _Peter did slit the throats of pirates, if you recall_. At her horrified gasp he went on, _They were the grownups of Neverland, the ones who tossed their weight around in Peter's adopted world of magic. Think about why Peter hates them so much._

Hermione shivered. "I never thought about it that way. They must have stolen him as a baby."

_Dropped him in a world of magic to sink or swim. I think a few dead 'pirates' don't quite cover it. Don’t fret about it, Hermione. They were evil men. They deserved it._

"But even bad people shouldn't be-- " She paused. 

_Is it wrong to cut the throats of bad men?_

"But--"

_What if they tried to cut your throat first?_

"I should call the police."

_And what would the police do? Kill the bad men for you?_

"No! That's not how the law works."

 _Isn't it?_ Tom smiled at her naivete.

“That’s police brutality!”

 _And Aurors are never heavy-handed -- oops, didn't mean to maim you there,_ _son,_ _my_ _wand must have slipped._

“But there’s a system--”

 _Ah, you mean that system that gives you a trial before a jury of_ their _friends before they take their afternoon tea? It's a very civilized throat-cutting, but the results are still the same._

"That's not how it should be! The authorities should punish the wrong-doers, and the law is fair to every-- wait a minute, whose side are you on? Didn't you start out by saying the bad ones deserve it?"

_Oh, Hermione, but who's bad and who's good when both sides are so keen on slitting throats?_

She could just _see_ him sitting back and smiling smugly. 

She didn't like it when Tom got like this. He could be so charming and funny as he drew her in, weaving his convoluted arguments around and around like a clever spider until he made her dizzy. There was something very wrong in the bones of what he said, even if, by the end of it, he'd led her halfway down the road to agreeing with him. She couldn’t let him. That was the way sophistry worked, Mum had told her. It made right wrong, and wrong right, and on top of that, it made you feel foolish for even thinking that there was such a thing as right and wrong in the first place. _It's more complicated than that,_ was always how it started. 

But Tom was the only friend she had who spoke the language of books, who picked up on her references and volleyed them back to her with a twist of his own, which made her feel so clever and witty for making them, instead of like a pompous show-off who deserved to be shunned by everyone in the playground, and she couldn’t go back to being that scared lonely girl again. 

She could have normal, non-bookish friends who liked her and accepted her, even if they thought she was mad ( _thank_ you, Ronald) because she also had Tom, her clever friend, with whom she could talk about books and ideas and homework. 

But sometimes--and Hermione felt ever so guilty for feeling this way--she thought he could do without half his cleverness, and switch it out for some of Neville's mild acceptance of a confusing world that didn’t only reflect him, or even Ron's utter denseness about other people and feelings. Sometimes Tom was a little too keen on people's faults. Like a razor blade.

"I need to go check on Ron and Draco,” she said, pushing the diary away from her.

_Oh, running after Ronald Weasley, again? Or is it Draco Malfoy that you're after?_

"I'm not 'after' anybody!" Hermione let out an indignant squawk and her quill slipped and dug into the paper. They both winced. "It's not like that! Ron and I are just friends. I don't think of him like that."

_The lady doth protest too much~_

She would not dignify that with a response. Besides, that would just be more denial. She knew how _that_ taunt worked.

 _And who_ do _you think of like that?_

 _"_ No one," she wrote firmly. “I’m not crazy into boys like _some_ people.”

 _No sex, then--like James Barrie?_ mocked Tom. He made ‘no sex’ sound like something dirty, which was just ridiculous.

“No sex because I’m twelve!” Hermione penned indignantly. "Anyway, if I ever did, when I was much, _much_ older, I'd go for someone far more sophisticated." She had her imaginary boyfriends. She just wasn’t all… _Lavender and Parvati_ about them, that was all. Tom understood.

_Well-read, of course. Intelligent, but not clerkish._

"Yes. And with lovely manners. And clever. With a dry, sardonic wit." 

Hermione wasn't quite sure what that entailed--maybe something like Professor Snape? But he was so _horrible_ to Gryffindor; he was just blatantly unfair. And his hair was awful, and he was always scowling at her for being _right_. No, no, no. She must have been gnawing on her quill for too long because the writing nudged her out of her reverie.

_Good-looking?_

"I don't care about that," she wrote quickly, but in her mind she was already conjuring up refined features and a wry, knowing smile, and long elegant fingers. She felt that Tom could see it too, hazy as her imaginings were, the way she felt he could see right into her soul when they wrote to each other.

 _Oh, Hermione. Your imaginary boyfriend sounds_ … gay.

"Ughhh!"

_Don't worry. That's what it's like if your idea of romance comes from a book. A very old book._

"You're terrible, Tom Riddle!"

She could still hear his laughter ringing in her ears as she slapped the diary shut and stuffed it under her pillow. She didn't care if it smothered him (she knew that it wouldn't). He was utterly insufferable! She didn't know why she bothered writing to him.

Her cheeks were still burning when her hand reached for the diary again. It was like a compulsion. 

Tom was there first, with his apologetic smile, so sure she'd take him back. But she had forgiven him already.

 _Hermione? I was just teasing_ . _After all, I'm just an old book._ _I suppose I must have been jealous, and I have no right to be. You're so clever and kind. Much too kind, and I don't deserve it._

"You're not just an old book, Tom. You're a person."

She could almost see him in her mind's eye, the sadness and hope flickering across his refined, cut-glass features, a vision as elusive as shadows upon water, and her heart softened as he sunk his hooks in.

_You're really the most extraordinary girl I've ever met. I wish I could have met you in real life._

Hermione Granger had never had a friend like Tom. 

#

Tom Riddle had never had a real friend. 

No one had liked him at the orphanage, and by the time he left for Hogwarts, he'd made sure they all feared him enough to leave him alone. It was better to be feared than loved, he believed.

At Hogwarts, however, he made slight adjustments to this idea. Love was useful, too. People were fools for love, and they'd do anything for another person if they loved them: give away their fortunes, perform ridiculous feats, humiliate themselves, lie, steal, cheat, murder, ruin their otherwise perfect lives--it was really quite extraordinary. 

People were so ready to give their hearts away, to make fools of themselves at the mercy of a complete stranger and for what? Because they were lonely and needy, and their childhoods had left a hole in their hearts because their parents had not done enough for them. Spoiled weaklings all of them, mewling over their little hurts, thinking they were so special, so alone. 

(He could just _tear their hearts out_.)

All Tom had to do was listen. Ask them about themselves--they were so self absorbed--and say that they were right, _you_ understood. Those _other_ people were completely unreasonable. But Tom would always be here for them.

It was so easy; it was so boring. But he was used to flattering fools.

Hermione Granger wanted to talk about her Transfigurations essay. And the extra reading she'd done for it. That bit on the evolving theories on mass and energy in the early 20th century should go into the footnotes, so as not to interrupt the flow of her essay. She was a clever child-- he was sometimes reminded of himself. (Had he ever been that young? She felt so much younger, and unbruised by the world.)

It took quite a bit of drawing out before he found out what made her tick. (He was ready to pick her apart, hair and bones and high-strung nerves.)

_People don't understand how lucky they are to study at Hogwarts. They don't appreciate what a privilege it is--not the way you do. They're like animals, running around, making loud noises, ruining things. They're the reason there's a Restricted Section in the first place. If it weren't for them, the books wouldn't have to be restricted._

"That's all right," Hermione wrote in her neat school-girl hand. "I can always get a pass from Professor McGonagall. I like Ron and Draco, but I don't need them sitting in the library with me all the time. Oh, that reminds me, I promised to check over Neville's Potions essay when he was done."

_You shouldn't have to wear yourself out for everybody._

"I don't mind. I like helping people.”

The girl worried and fussed so much about being helpful, so eager to be thought useful and good so that everyone would need her and they’d never leave her on the outs again. That was a weakness he could exploit. 

_You’re far cleverer than all the rest of them put together. You’re better than they are._

“That’s not true,” she wrote, but she liked that. She liked coming out on top. “And there's so much I don't know. Magic is like air to someone like Draco. He's so used to it that he doesn't realize how much he takes for granted. I must be missing _so_ many subtle nuances."

_I wish I could be there with you. We could walk through Hogwarts together. I could tell you all its secrets, its history. It’s a wonderful place. People don’t know the half of it. There’s so much more to Hogwarts than what you’ve read in your history books._

“I thought it was just me. I thought I was just missing the obvious.” 

_Because you're Muggleborn..._

It hadn't been evident at first, but it was obvious in hindsight. How she tried so hard to keep up, and then outpaced them all. 

"People can be rather mean about it--even in Gryffindor. But I’ll manage. I can work harder, ten times harder than everyone else. I can make up for it.”

_You should haven’t to ‘make up for it’ as if you’re lacking in any way. You’re brilliant, Hermione._

“Oh, Tom, you say the nicest things. But they’re really not that bad. I wish you could meet them in person. Ron and Draco and Neville. Lavender and Parvati would go ga-ga over you.”

He smiled to himself. Little miss bookworm wanting to show off her handsome, clever, _older_ boyfriend to the other girls. He could do that. But he feigned shaking his head sadly.

_It’s too risky, Hermione. I wouldn’t ask that of you. I’m just grateful that I have someone like you to give me a glimpse of real life again. It’s more than I could have hoped for, after being cursed to a half-life as an empty book. You’re a ray of light shining into my dark prison cell._

“But that’s not _right_ , Tom!” Hermione’s cursive grew rather spiky when she was indignant on someone else's behalf. “You deserve a full life, too! I just don’t understand!”

_I’ve done some terrible things, Hermione. Maybe it’s better that they lock me up like this._

“I don’t understand. There’s wizard prison-- But you’re still a student. Don’t they have juvie in the Wizarding World? There has to be a system--”

_Hermione, the wizarding world isn’t so different from when Peter Pan slit pirates’ throats._

“That’s barbaric! There should be somebody who can do something. I realize wizarding laws are archaic, but it can’t be so bad anymore. Professor Dumbledore--”

_No._

“Tom, don’t be unreasonable--”

_Not Dumbledore._

“Why not? I’m sure he’ll find a way to make things right, no matter what you’ve--”

_I … I can’t talk about it. And not Dumbledore, Hermione. Promise me._

“What? Why not? He’s the greatest wizard--”

_NOT DUMBLEDORE._

_… not…_

_… please..._

"Tom, whatever you did--"

_I’m sorry. I have to go._

“Tom! Tom, come back--”

He left her alone for a few days after that while she grew increasingly anxious. He had to pace himself or he'd gobble her up, delicious morsel that she was.

By the fifth day, she was ready to do anything to make things right between them again. 

“I’m so sorry Tom, I shouldn’t have pried. I keep acting as if I know better--”

He kept his glee muted and let her hang for a while longer.

“Are you still angry with me?”

…

“I was just trying to help. Please don’t be mad at me, Tom.”

…

“Tom?”

...

"Tom, please..."

_Hermione, would you like to see the Chamber of Secrets?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking of Jason Isaacs as Captain Hook in the 2003 _Peter Pan_ , you know, because of the meta.


End file.
